seventy-five

Later that evening, Detweiler and I sat side-by-side on a bench in his parents’ backyard and watched Emily and Anya chase fireflies. Soon the girls would be too old for this sort of nonsense, but a new baby in the family might tempt them to return to these carefree ways.

“I would have never guessed that Carla Kloss could have been so strong,” said Detweiler. “But she told Milton that enough was enough. She wouldn’t put up with the lies any longer. He got up and walked out of the house. Hopped in his truck. Didn’t go far. When he spotted you at the shooting range, he had to stop and spill his guts.”

I shuddered. “I’m sorry Anya had to see that.”

He sighed. “I am, too. But at least it’s over. Thank goodness. Schnabel says Carla told the police the same story you heard from Milton. He’s confident all the charges will be dropped. That reminds me, what’s the latest on Johnny?”

“I phoned Ned and he told me that Johnny’s been waking up. Just for short periods, but still …”

“But still …” Detweiler kissed me tenderly. “That’s encouraging. And Dodie?”

“It’s not good.”

“Ah.”

My turn to sigh.

His cell phone rang.

I walked over to the girls. They had twenty or so captives in a Ball jar with an apple core in the bottom for the lightning bugs to feast on. Anya threw her arms around me and hugged me tight. “It’s over! Isn’t it great? Now we can get married.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Well, maybe. But if Detweiler isn’t going to jail, we can talk about it, right? I know what kind of dress I want to wear.”

I shook my head and marveled. Honestly her moods shifted so quickly, that once again, I was caught unaware. “Right. We have a lot of talking to do.”

“Kiki!” Detweiler yelled to me. I trotted over to his side. He was staring at his phone, and he finished his conversation with, “I’ll call you back. Yes, yes. I understand. Right away.”

“What is it?” I slipped my arms around his waist.

He hesitated. “That was a worker at a child welfare agency in California. We’d better sit down.”

Leading me to the wooden bench, he struggled for words. “It’s about Gina. My first wife. Um, there’s been an accident. A car crash. She’s dead.”

“Whoa. Two dead wives in one week.” I rubbed my arms against the coming chill of the evening. “That has to be some kind of a record.”

“Uh, that’s not all. It seems she left behind a son.”

“Poor little guy.”

“He’s my son.”

the end